A Dangerous Attraction
by RainingPaperButterflies
Summary: Alfred, a 19 year old squire determined to be a knight, is given a new mentor and soon finds that battle training has become far less terrifying then his charge's passionate hands. But for how long will Alfred be able to resist the knights dangerous pull?


**Summary:** Alfred, a squire determined to be a knight, is given a new mentor, and soon finds that battle training has become far less terrifying then his charge's passionate hands. But for how long will Alfred be able to resist the knights dangerous pull?

**A/N:** Honestly, I don't know how this came to me... it just did and I wrote it in a day lol. I think it's probably because of my horror at the complete and utter lack of knight!Iggy fics... I mean, I love pirate England as much as the next girl, but England as a knight has just always been such an enticing idea to me 3... *wanders off to dream land* This will probably not be a particularly long fic, most likely just a four shot or something like that. Unless I don't get any reviews in which case I'll drop it as I really should focus all my time and energy on writing the Tell Tale Heart's... this story is just kind of a break for my creativity... call it a breath of fresh air if you will lol. Sometimes doing a lot of serious writing makes it difficult to come up with things, especially when there's an involved plot going on XP Anyway, here's chapter one :P By the way, this is un-betaed so expect lot's of mistakes lol.

Oh yea! One last thing, this isn't historically accurate in the least... a lot of the stuff about knights and stuff IS actually true, but therest of it is jus fiction :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, all rights to the characters belong to Himaruya sensei

**Warnings:** Sexual situations, swearing, seme!England, etc.

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><p>Alfred wiped his sweating brow with his forearm, glaring angrily up at the beating sun as if that would make it go away. It seemed just his luck that the day of a tournament the weather in this constantly soggy country would take a turn for the better. Still, he was determined to see this one thru. After all, it was his last festival working as a squire under Antonio.<p>

The foreign knight, with his golden sun kissed skin and curly chocolate locks, was leaving their great village in a matter of days by order of the king. It seemed that things in a town near the river Stix were growing turmoil, and it was decided that Antonio and a band of soldiers would be moved to this new location in order to take charge of the restless people for the time being. But who knew how long that would last?

It was decided the day that Antonio was given the position that Alfred would no longer be able to work as his squire. After all, if Antonio was going to run a town, he couldn't very well be worrying about his apprentice. And even if it were at all possible, Alfred held the suspicion that his charge would not let him go anyway. Moving from the royal city to a rundown one by the riverside? It certainly didn't make for opportunity to speed up his road to knighthood, and his teacher would never do anything that would get in the way of his goal.

Alfred grabbed a worn linen cloth off the workbench beside him, rubbing down Antonio's prized sword. The Spanish knight was born into a family much like his own, comprised of poor farmers who worked each year under a lord that gave them practically nil for their labor. In Antonio's case, he'd told him, the boy and his family had been brought over from Spain during a raid on one of the towns and simply dropped in the middle of a village, left to fend for themselves and the lord of the place like many other's of their country.

Likewise, they had both been granted their access to knighthood in a similar fashion. Poor men were not allowed such an honor after all. It took money to be a knight, something that neither of them had claim to in their childhoods. Alfred himself had been discovered one day when a band of palace knights passed through his village.

He had always dreamed of being a knight. When he was young, Alfred would fashion wooden swords out of the scrap that the local carpenter gave him, battling with invisible opponents, slashing at trees and making up his own moves as he worked the fields with his younger, and significantly weaker, brother Matthew. They had been out in the grain fields the day that the men came through town atop their horses.

Alfred had never seen anything more awe inspiring in his life. They were kind, chivalrous men, and the villagers greeted them with great welcome. Eager to meet them for himself, Alfred ran from his work, despite his brother's protests, into the town in search of the knights.

What he found shocked him.

One of those great men, holding a small child by the collar of his shirt and shaking him violently down an ally way. The boy was sobbing uncontrollably, insisting through his tears that he had no money to give, nor did his parents. The knight raised his hand to strike the child, and Alfred, pulling out his wooden sword that was fastened securely in the loop of his belt, ran at him, stopping his palm with the edge of his sword just inches in front of the boy's cheek.

The man, furious at the intervention, released the child (who scrambled down the street), and turned on Alfred, drawing his own steel weapon and pointing it at the shaking blonde. At that moment, Alfred had never been surer that it was the end of him.

But he was lucky. For what Alfred lacked in skill, he made up for in his raw, unimaginable strength. And with every swing of the sword that the knight threw at him, he managed to not only block the feircely-approaching blade, but force it backwards, eventually throwing the man off balance and onto the worn cobblestone streets, knocking his head against the ground. He stood above the knight, panting slightly from the exertion and heart pounding furiously in his chest, readying himself for the man to stand again when he felt a gentle hand set itself on his shoulder.

He glanced up, tensing at the sudden contact. Behind him stood a tall, tan skinned boy with riveting green eyes and a head of rich brown hair, dressed in a light suite of armor and a green tunic that bore the kings crest. It was one of the other knights. He jumped away fearfully. After all, who was to say they all weren't as horrible as the knight that still lay, dazed, at his feet. Not to mention the fact that he had just attacked a member of the palace guard. He was sure to be punished.

To his surprise, however, the boy simply smiled lightly and let out a soft chuckle, motioning for Alfred to come closer. He stepped forward reluctantly, holding his chipped wooden sword in front of him protectively, waiting for harsh reprimanding words to flow from the boys mouth. Instead, he was met only with praise for his fine sword work, and admiration at his great strength. The boy asked if he had ever thought about becoming a knight. Alfred said he had, but he was poor so there was no way.

The boy ruffled his hair and bent down to shackle the fallen knight.

That was the beginning of everything for Alfred. The bronze skinned knight, who he later learned to be Antonio, brought Alfred back to his band, explaining to them what had happened with the rouge knight, and urged Alfred to show them his swordsmanship. They were instantly impressed with his work (although Alfred himself didn't see what the big deal was) and upon that moment, it was decided that he would be brought back to the king and judged, not only for his sword play, but, Antonio explained, for his immense chivalry. His family was ecstatic, and upon his departure, the townspeople greeted him at the edge of the village, offering an enthusiastic goodbye as he stepped into a world that none of them had ever even dreamed of.

On their journey back to the castle, Alfred learned a great deal about Antonio. He was only eighteen, three years below the normal age for knighthood, but had been admitted early due to bravery in the battlefield. He also had a page, who Alfred had noticed briefly on the back of Antonio's horse when the men had first ridden into town. The auburn haired boy with golden eyes and a short temper known as Romano (also a foreigner, apparently) was wary of Alfred at first, constantly muttering about the blonde bursting in where he wasn't wanted, but the elder boy eventually came around, and Alfred could honestly say he had never had a better friend.

He was eight when he was admitted as a page; a year above the normal age, but no one seemed to have a problem with it. He worked along side Romano, twelve a that time, for two years, until the boy turned fourteen and happily took his place as Antonio's first squire. Alfred was only ten. Four years later, he was finally eligible to be granted a teacher. Alfred was nervous. He'd been in the town for a time, but he hadn't really gotten close to any of the knight's except for Antonio, but he still had Romano for several years yet.

So one could imagine his surprise when the King called in his charge, and it was Antonio's smiling face that he was greeted with, and not that of a stranger. Apparently, Antonio had requested to take him, as well as Romano at the same time. There was never a better time in Alfred's life, training beside his best friend and his dear master, who had brought him into this life that Alfred had always believed was far from his reach.

He sighed heavily, holding the sword up to the light and inspecting the glimmering blade with careful precision. He was nineteen now, with three years left until he would be called to knighthood. Romano, now twenty three, was a proud member of the order, and Alfred could tell by the face he made upon being admitted that he was grateful to finally be equal with their long time leader. If it was possible, Antonio and Romano seemed to grow even closer after that night of celebration, and were nearly inseparable now. As fate would have it, Romano happened to be accompanying him to this new town, and it seemed that after all these years, Alfred would be alone in the crowded village. Alone, and with a new charge.

The thought made his stomach churn.

"Hey Al, are you done with Tonio's sword?" Romano's voice rose from inside the stables.

"Yea, I think so." He called back, spinning the weapon carefully in his hand.

"Good, they're starting the swordsman part of the tournament soon and he get's antsy about his stuff for those events."

Alfred laughed fondly, remembering their teacher's antics during tournaments in years past. "Yea yea, I know. You're doing hand to hand, yea?" He asked, pushing himself off the worn wooden bench and turning to face his companion. Romano was fitting his threadbare brown gloves over his hands, tugging on the ends and experimentally curling his fingers into a fist.

"That's right." He replied, not taking his eyes off of his hands as he continued to examine the tired leather.

"You really should replace those." Alfred advised him, holding out the sword to the olive skinned boy. "One of these day's, they're going to rip around the knuckles and your going to end up with a bloody hand."

Romano scoffed and took Antonio's sword from him, sliding it gently into its elegant sheath. "Please, I'm more careful then that. Beside's, no one's going to be able to lay a hand on me. Not this year."

"You just keep telling yourself that." Alfred teased, dodging Romano's right hook. "Don't worry, I'll be cheering for you." He promised.

"Yea, I know." Romano rolled his eyes. "Mister squire."

"Aw shut up." Alfred muttered crossly, sticking out his tongue. "I've only got three more years. And maybe I'll be made a knight early."

"Not likely." Romano informed him, shooting down the boy's enthusiasm. "If you were staying under Antonio that whole time, I would say it's far more probable because he gets sent out to fight a lot. But your guy doesn't leave town as much. He's the first knight after all, it would be bad for the king if something happened to him."

"Oh yea, that's right, isn't he supposed to be some great swordsman of something?" Alfred wrinkled his nose.

"Not or something, he's the greatest." Romano said, pulling open the stable doors and stepping inside. Alfred followed suit, closing his nostrils against the smell of the horses. "He's not the first knight for nothing you know. Rumor has it that he once took on an entire band of knight's all on his own and destroyed them. The one that he left alive went and told his lord about it, and the guy didn't dare go against the king again."

Alfred shuddered. "Isn't it against the code to kill unless necessary? And anyway, how could he take on a whole band by himself?"

"Apparently he's wicked fast, even in armor, which by the way, he fashions himself." Romano explained, rubbing one of the horse's noses affectionately. "Not only that, but he's fierce and completely unmerciful. The only reason he left that guy alive was to have someone to send back and tell the enemy about what he'd seen. I don't know how he get's away with it, honestly. I guess the king figures he's to much of an asset to punish for something like that, and as long as he keeps him under control his actions aren't really causing any problems."

"He sound's nuts."

Romano nodded, wincing as they stepped out of the stable and into the blistering sun once again. "He might just be. But he's one hell of a fighter, so does it really matter?"

"Yes." Alfred grumbled, tugging his blue tunic out from where it was tucked into his pants. "I don't want to learn from someone like that."

"Well tough." Romano grinned dryly, giving him a gentle shove. "Hey, you should feel honored. He's never taken a squire before. Seems like the king really wanted him to teach you."

"Somehow I'm not really feeling all to appreciative." Alfred admitted as they strolled along the dirt path back towards the center of town. The oak trees that lined the road dappled the sunlight, providing a much needed cover from the scorching heat.

"Well, think of it as a chance to learn a different way." Romano suggested.

"Easy for you to say, you got to learn from Antonio all these years."

His friend tugged awkwardly on his wayward curl and offered an unsympathetic shrug. "What can you do? It does suck that you can't come along though." Romano sighed, kicking up a cloud of dust. "I wish it were all of us going."

"What can you do?" Alfred grinned. Romano laughed tiredly.

"Yea, I suppose you're right. Anyway, when are you going to meet that new teacher of yours?"

"Two day's, as soon as you guy's leave."

"Well, good luck with the legendary metal dragon. I hope it all turns out ok."

"Metal dragon." Alfred grumbled. "Somehow I just knew this guy would have a nickname like that. What was his real name again?"

"Arthur Kirkland." Romano replied as they came over a hill. There was the town, sprawled out before them in all its wonder. Today, it was littered with brightly colored tents, and the sound of music and laughter rose from behind the walls. Just the expanse of the wall itself was enormous. Although many knights kept their stables and homesteads outside of the city, there was room enough for all of them to move in, and then some. Beside's the castle itself and the mass of houses and shops, a thick forest lay inside the walls, now wedged between the stone and the fair goers and their tents. It was truly a beautiful city.

Romano waved up at the guards as they approached the gates and they waved back, opening the entryway at once for the knight and the squire.

"Now let's see." Romano drawled, crossing his arms and staring into the crowds of people. "Where did he want to meet us again?"

"I thought it was the old tavern, right?" Alfred reminded him, feeling slightly out of place with his plain clothes in the extravagance of the festival.

"Oh, right." Romano nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. "I knew that."

"Of course you did." Alfred grinned knowingly.

"Oh fuck off."

A couple of mother's passing by frowned at his language, shooing their children along quickly as if to get away from such a rowdy man. Of course, anyone who was close to Romano knew that he was your typical all bark and no bite type of guy. Sure he swore a lot, but he could be a gentleman when he wanted (Alfred had seen that side of him more then enough times at the social gatherings the King held that they were required to attend) and he never harmed another person unless he saw it necessary. He was quirky, but all knights were in a way, Alfred supposed.

It took them long enough to get there. After twenty minutes of winding through crowds of villagers, exuberant musicians, entertainers, vendors, and the occasional bratty kid, they finally reached the ragged old pub. Alfred had seen it himself plenty of times. After all, he had lived in the village for years now. However, if memory served him correctly, this would be his first time actually entering the tavern.

Antonio was opposed to his apprentices consuming alcohol until they became knights, although they were legal to drink far before then. It was something of a coming of age thing, Antonio had explained to them once. Only men should drink alcohol. And a squire wasn't a man until he became a knight. Romano had his first sip of ale the night of his assumption to knighthood, and the boy was plastered after the first cup, or so said Antonio. Apparently his foreign friend's alcohol tolerance was pretty lacking.

Romano stepped inside first; grabbing the black metal handle and pushing the rotting wood door open to reveal an uproarious celebration. Men drinking, clinking their mugs in toast after toast. Women dancing around the room merrily with their spouses, or sitting around tables and laughing with each other. Alfred felt his inside's churn at the overwhelming aroma of the alcohol. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to it, but he and the intoxicating substance had never really gotten along, and the azure-eyed boy found himself sick at simply the scent of the stuff.

"Do you see him?" Romano inquired, combing his hands through his auburn hair, as if trying to think of where he could possibly be at a time like this. Alfred shook his head, although truthfully he wasn't focusing on much other then his suddenly upset stomach.

"Oh wait, no there he is." Romano exclaimed, pointing to the far corner of the room where their mentor sat idly with his feet propped comfortably on the tabletop and eyes closed as if he was sleeping. Amongst the enthusiasm and cheerful mood of the room, he looked almost bored as he let out a tired yawn, rubbing his thumb across the bridge of his sun freckled nose.

"Antonio!" Romano yelled, waving his hand as they approached the table. Antonio's eyes snapped open, revealing the golden-flecked green orbs that lay beneath his closed lids. He looked surprised at first, but his mouth crept happily into a smile as his apprentice and former student sat down in the chairs beside him.

"There you two are. I was beginning to think I would be sitting here all day." He remarked, taking a swing of the rum that was set in front of him on the round table.

"We got here fast enough, didn't we? I mean, you got to sit here inside, we were the ones out in the sun doing your work for you. I think my shoulders are sunburned." Romano growled irritably. Antonio flashed him a toothy grin, white teeth shining brightly against the dark bronze of his skin.

"Pobre chico." He cooed, ruffling Romano's hair. "¿Es necesario que yo lo beso mejor?"

Romano reddened and slapped the other man's hand away, crossing his arms in a defensive position. Alfred forced down the grin that tugged on his lips. He had spent enough years around the Spaniard and Romano that he could pick up on their Spanish conversations pretty easily now, although speaking the language himself was out of the question.

"Cállate, bastardo." Romano hissed, boring a hole in the table with his golden eyes. Antonio tossed him a gentle smile, one that went unnoticed by Romano, and shook his head.

"You never change."

"Neither do you! You're still the same idiot that you were ten years ago." Romano responded, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Um, Antonio?" Alfred cut in. "We brought you your sword. I double-checked the grip, and it seems fine to me. Also, you had a crack on the left side, but I repaired it." Antonio's eyes flickered away from the fuming boy and he smiled gratefully at Alfred.

"Thanks Alfred. You never fail me when it comes to taking care of things." Alfred forced down the pride in his chest. His charge had praised him plenty of times over the years, but it still always meant a lot to him. "Are you excited to meet your new mentor in a couple days?" Antonio asked, taking the sheathed weapon from Romano's hand as he handed it, reluctantly, across the table. Alfred shrugged half-heartedly.

"Not really." He confessed. "I don't really like the sound of this guy." Antonio gave him a weary smile.

"Ah, Arthur. Yes, he can be something of a handful, that one. He was already here when I became a page, although he's a couple years younger then me." Alfred gave him a startled look.

"He's, he's younger then you?" He exclaimed. All this time, he'd been picturing this crazy old man, fifties, maybe late forties, who just used to be a great fighter. But younger then Antonio? That meant he at least had to be under twenty-nine, and he said a couple years, implying more then one. Antonio nodded thoughtfully.

"That's right. Four years or so I think. At this point, he'd be about twenty-five, just two years older then Roma. Six for you, Alfred."

"S-six years?" Alfred sputtered. He was only six years older? How great this could this guy be if he only had four years of experience under his belt? Even Antonio sometimes fell to the skill of older knights, and he was the greatest swordsman Alfred knew! How could this, this kid, be his teacher?

"That's right." Antonio replied. "He's from a rich family, noble blood I believe, so he's been training since he was very young."

"Totally opposite of the three of us." Romano muttered. Antonio chuckled good-naturedly.

"Well admittedly, there aren't to many knights like us, if you look at it rationally. The chance of Alfred getting paired with another commoner was pretty slim."

"Did you know him?" Alfred asked. His teacher nodded.

"Yes we have… spoken, once or twice." Antonio grimaced, as if remembering something unpleasant. "He's a little hard to deal with, that one. You're going to have to have your guard up at all times Alfred."

Have my guard up? He thought, bewildered. For what? Was his sword fighting really so vicious?

"Don't worry." He said, more confidently then he felt. "I'm the strongest nineteen year old in the village, I'll definitely be able to hold my own in a spar."

Antonio opened his mouth to speak, emerald green eyes glinting with what looked like concern, but was interrupted by a loud, boisterous laugh.

"Well well, Sir Antonio and Sir Romano. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company in my pub? Thought you two'd be down at the competition by now." A large round man with a thick red mustache and a crop of wild red hair to boot stood beside their table, a mug in each hand. Antonio threw him a friendly smile, deepening the dimples in his cheeks.

Antonio came by the tavern often, mostly with friends, sometimes alone if he just wanted to mull. From what Alfred knew, he and the pub owner went all the way back to the day Antonio entered the town, and the man was always happy to talk to him, or simply give him a free drink.

"Oh, we're on our way. Just needed to meet up with Alfred and grab my sword. It wouldn't do me any good to enter a sparring competition without it after all."

"Why don't ya stay for a little while then?" He suggested, setting the ale down on the table. "The sparrin' doesn't start 'till sunset. It's no good to go down there and get your nerves all worked up before ya fight. I know how ya get when your nervous 'toni it won't do ya no good at all." Antonio laughed.

"Well I can't argue with that. But if you remember, I've got a strict no drinking policy when it comes to my squires." He said, glancing at Alfred. "And I don't think this one would take any even if I let him." Alfred stuck out his tongue. "I'd hate to just leave him sitting around."

"We've got non-alcoholic stuff in the cellar." The man said. "It's pretty good. Actually," He turned, peering curiously through the crowd. "I just sent my son down there to grab a pint of it. He's been down there quite a time now. Wonder what he's doin' down there, little bugger. Probably ran off somewhere. Guess I'll have to go down and grab it myself…"

"I'll do it." Alfred offered immediately. The burly man tossed him a surprised look, but almost instantly began laughing.

"Yup, he's just like you said he was 'Toni." He bellowed, slapping Alfred on the back and nearly knocking the wind out of him. "You're a right good kid, Jones. Alright, go on ahead. It's in the far end of the cellar, under the serpentine brandy. You can't miss it." Alfred pushed himself to his feet, catching Romano's smug, knowing look. He really did like to help people, but it wasn't for that reason that he'd offered to go down to the basement.

Actually, he was having a hard time dealing with the smell of alcohol that was floating around the room, and right now, he would much prefer the must of a cellar to the tang of rum. Of course Romano would figure that out. He shrugged sheepishly at his friend as the bar owner turned to talk to Antonio, and with a quick wave, slipped into the crowd.

The door to the cellar was tucked in the back of the shop, around a few corners and turns, far out of the way of the public eye. He breathed out a heavy sigh. The smell was much easier to deal with here. He tugged on the door handle, revealing a set of dimly lit stone stairs that ascended down into quiet darkness. Alfred frowned, glancing back towards the sound of the rowdy tavern. He really didn't like the dark, and suddenly wished that he had asked for a lantern before going down into such a creepy place.

Man up, he scolded himself. You're going to be a knight! A hero! You can't wimp out because of the dark, not any more. Tentatively, he took a first step, hand still clutching the cool brass door handle as if it were his lifeline. He considered leaving the door open, but shook his head. He didn't want anyone who wasn't supposed to be there sneaking in, after all. Gently, he pulled the door shut as he took another step into the blackness. It shut with a small click behind him and he let out a breath of air he hadn't even known he was holding in.

He pressed his hand against the wall, feeling the cool stone as he spiraled down into the cellar, squinting his eyes in the dim candlelight. A loud scratching noise suddenly echoed through the stairwell, bouncing around the curved space. He froze, swallowing hard. Just rats. Just rats, no big deal. He assured himself. He slunk slowly downwards, watching around his feet just in case one of the little monsters decided they wanted to take a bite out of him.

He sighed as he took his final step off the stairs, feet touching the smooth, solid floor of the basement. The walls were lined with barrels, stacked atop each other like a child's toy blocks, and held by large wooden racks that stretched around and in between the twisting room. Serpentine brandy, serpentine brandy… he thought to himself, wandering around the barrels and inspecting their labels. Where had he said it was?

Alfred winced as another loud scratching sound filled his ears. Rats. Rats, just really big rats.

"Ah!"

He stiffened, blood running cold as his hands tightened at his sides. Rats most definitely didn't make noises like that. There was someone else down here. Someone else… the bar owners son? Where there had been fear, worry now pooled in his gut. Was he hurt or something? Sick maybe? He hesitated. Was it even him?

"Mmm! Ah-hah w-wait…" A voice whimpered quietly. It was a boy. Definitely a boy. He sounded roughly Alfred's age, if he had to guess. Give or take a year or two. And he sounded like he was in pain. But then… then who was he talking to? This is weird. This is for sure weird. He told himself. I shouldn't get involved. I should run right upstairs and get Antonio. Tell him something's going on down here. Maybe it's witchcraft. What if he's being tortured, or held hostage? He inched forward, despite himself.

"Gah-ah slow down i-it h-hurts…"

So he WAS being tortured! Alfred tensed, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a tiny-sheathed dagger. It had been a present from Antonio for his sixteenth birthday, three years prior, and that little knife had gotten him out of trouble more times then he could count. It wasn't much against a sword, or magic for that matter, but if it could help at all, he would use it.

His ears perked at the sound of another voice rumbling quietly beneath the boy's. He couldn't make out a single word of it, but by the sound, the voice clearly belonged to a man. Two men. So it wasn't witchcraft then? He sucked in a breath and took a few more steps forward. They were in the last row, whoever they were. What if he was bleeding? What if… what if… he felt nauseous.

Slowly, he stepped out in front of the row, eyes clenched shut and body tense, readying himself for the worst. Ready to be attacked.

But there was nothing. Just… noises. He cracked his eye open.

He could barely see the smaller of the men, curled on the floor with only a crop of bright red hair and the bare bottoms of his feet showing from beneath the other person. He was breathing hard, light panting bouncing off the beer barrels. He cried out again. Alfred shifted his weight slightly, narrowing his eyes, still not really understanding what was going on. He slid his cobalt gaze to the man on top of him.

His hair was a golden mess atop his head, reminding Alfred vaguely of the straw in the stables, but shining far more brightly then any hay the young squire had ever seen. It stuck damply to the back of his neck, where Alfred could see sweat had begun to bead delicately on the man's porcelain skin.

The man's back was small, but strong in appearance, his shoulder blades protruding elegantly from beneath the thin fabric of his green tunic and shifting as the man bent further towards the cowering boy beneath him. Alfred watched as his hand brushed a pile of black beside them. They looked like… like a pair of breeches.

And something clicked.

Alfred let out a disgusted gasp, letting the pocketknife drop from his hand and land with a loud clatter onto the cellar floor. The red head squeaked in surprise, scrambling to get the blonde off of him and in the mean time, giving Alfred a solid view of his exposed lower half. He looked away, face burning and stomach churning uncomfortably.

They were THOSE types. He'd often heard whispers about them, men that would sleep with other men, but even at near twenty, he'd always found it hard to believe. After all, it was illegal by law, and a sin in the eyes of God.

But with every passing second, he was finding the idea all the more difficult to reject.

"Wha-what what are you doing down here!" The smaller boy cried weakly. "Who are you? I-i-it's not what it looks like! I-I…" Alfred kept his eyes pinned on the floor, inching backwards.

"No!" The red head exclaimed, yanking on his black pants and stumbling to his feet. "Please please d-don't tell my dad! I promise it's not, i-i-t's…"

"Go." Alfred cut in numbly. "Get out of here, now." From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy's face crumple in relief.

"Thank you." He whispered, slinking past him. Alfred tensed as the boy's shirt brushed his arm. The hair on his neck was pricking just from being close to one of them. Alfred said nothing, and once he felt he was securely past, the pub owner's son dashed out of the room and disappeared up the stairs.

"Little brat." A voice growled hoarsely. "Don't you know it's rude to walk in on people?" Alfred narrowed his eyes, shifting his azure orbs so that he could see the other man more clearly. His face was to him now, revealing a pair of shocking, heated green eyes that burned into his own, as if the man were trying to reach inside of him and touch his soul. Alfred took another step back.

"Th-that's indecent." He hissed as firmly as he could. "That's disgusting, you pervert, taking advantage of that kid like th-"

"Who was taking advantage?" The man cut in smoothly, a confident smirk working it's way onto his face. "That boy practically begged me for it. I was doing him a favor."

"Liar." Alfred spat. The man smiled lazily, quirking his head and staring at him through half lidded eyes. Alfred felt his cheeks grow warm, and he squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Wh-why… why would he …" He could feel himself faltering, as if the energy in his body was being sucked away into those poisonous green orbs.

"For the same reason," the man began, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his pants, 'that you're still standing here." He had a slight stature, but like his back, a firm looking one that told of years of hard work and toil. He was about Alfred's own height, perhaps an inch or two taller, but not by much, and his hands, though smaller then his own, were calloused on the tips and worn from labor. And covered in… something white.

The man brought his thumb carelessly to his mouth, and Alfred's body heated as he watched a lithe, pink tongue slip from a pair of tinted lips and slide it's way up the appendage, it's owner not once releasing Alfred's eye's from his own. Taunting him, as if daring the weak kneed boy to say something.

"I-I-I'm here because I want to stop you!" Alfred replied unconvincingly.

The man raised a dark, thick eyebrow skeptically. "Now who's lying?" He purred, sauntering towards the muddled squire. Alfred scrambled to get away, falling backwards into one of the rum barrels but managing, clumsily, to hold himself up against the wall. He eyed his dagger, lying on the floor just a couple feet away. If he could just get that…

Alfred let out a short cry of protest as the man took his chin between his thin fingers, slanting his face upwards as if inspecting it. Alfred grit his teeth and swung his free arm at his side. The man caught it easily, as if he'd been expecting it and simply continued to stare at Alfred, looking his face up and down.

"How about this?" He breathed into his neck, cooling Alfred's painfully heated skin. The boy held back a violent shudder, holding firmly as his torso squirmed to arch upwards. "Pay me back for ruining my fun, and I'll let you go with this handsome face of yours still in tact."

"You're going to hell." Alfred snarled. The man laughed into his skin, lips ghosting across the top of his ear as he moved his face into his hair.

"Then you're going with me, aren't you?" He whispered into Alfred's blonde locks, inhaling deeply. His breath hitched sharply in his throat, causing the emerald-eyed man to let out a cruel chuckle. "You are no different then that boy, child." He cooed viciously, sliding his lips hungrily across Alfred's forehead. "You are the same."

"Bastard." He growled, fighting the stony grip that continued to entrap his hand. His shifted on the other, his right, that was keeping him standing. He could always let go of the wall, but then what, go tumbling to the ground at the mercy of this, this monster? Not a chance in hell. But somehow, somehow he had to get out of here. Before this man devoured him.

"_Hmm_." The man breathed, brushing their noses together. His lips were close. So perilously close, it felt like his heart was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting, for those inches to close between them before it jumped head first into his stomach. He felt his lower abdomen grow warm. "Look at this, the little vigilante can't even protect himself." The man purred against the side of his mouth. Alfred felt his tongue swipe across his sun baked lips.

Too much.

God just too _much_…

"How old are you now, eighteen, nineteen?" The man guessed, working his mouth down Alfred's jaw. "A squire, by the king's seal on your shirt." He tugged at the brown strings laced down the top of Alfred's tunic, revealing more of his chest. "Sword fighting. And hand to hand, but you prefer using a weapon don't you?" The smirked into the side of his neck. "You're strong. Too strong. You don't like hitting people, you're afraid you'll hurt them. That's why you like having a sword. It's easier for you to control."

"How…?" Alfred croaked, writhing in his grip. How? How could this man, this stranger, possibly know all that? Things that he'd never even told his mentor and his dearest friend?

"Your pretty easy to read. I can tell just by simple things. For example," The man nosed the area around the base of his neck.

"Your tone of voice." He nipped the skin above his collarbone. Alfred yelped quietly.

"Your actions." Teeth grazed dangerously across his Adams apple.

"Your personality." His tongue traced the curvature of jaw.

"_Your body_." The man breathed into Alfred's open mouth, lips twisting into a devious smile against his own. "All I have to do is feel you and you're like an open book, Alfred Frederick Jones. It would be so_ easy_ to take everything from you."

The muscles in Alfred's arm went slack beneath him. The man held him up by the hand he was still clutching tightly, face still pressed closely into his own as he balanced weakly on his feet. He knew his name. HOW did this person know his name? This is dangerous. Be careful. His mind warned him. You're going to be eaten little boy. He's going to light you ablaze and then swallow you whole.

"You don't know anything." He whispered hoarsely, putting as much venom into his voice as he could manage. "And I will never give you what you want." And suddenly, he was burning. A white, fiery heat licked the edges of his vision, threatening to bring him to his knees, and finally, Alfred let a strangled cry escape from the confines of his throat. The white disappeared suddenly, the pressure that had been so subtly applied to the bottom half of his body gone. But still, the heat was there. Still bottled tightly in his abdomen, hot, boiling, and threatening to bubble over any second. He whimpered.

"But you already have."

The man captured his lips softly against his own, as if he was trying to be gentle, coaxing Alfred's mouth to move along with him. It was torturous, how much Alfred ached. Every bone and muscle in his body was sore and aflame. Suddenly, sparring practice for four hours straight with his charge seemed like a walk in the park.

And then he heard it.

"Alfred? Alfred are you down there?" Antonio's voice echoed down from the top of the stairwell into the dimly lit cellar. He panicked. No! What was going on? What was he doing? He was going to be a knight for God's sake, the least he could do was fight of a low life like this. He thrashed angrily, prepared to fight for his freedom.

Surprisingly, he didn't have to. The man released his lips harshly, glaring irritably towards the stairs. "Tch." He growled, as if irritated at the interruption. Alfred for one had never been more grateful to hear his teacher yelling at him.

"I-I'm down here! I'm coming up just give me a second!" He called, forcing the tremor out of his voice. Antonio didn't respond at once, as if he was thinking about something.

"No, I'll come down and give you a hand." He answered. "Are you sure you're ok?" Alfred's pulse quickened.

"No no no I'm fine, seriously I'm OK I promise. Let me do it myself, it's a good work out. I just had a little trouble finding it." He yelled insistently, glancing nervously at the emerald eyed man who still held his wrist threateningly in his hand, and was staring lazily at him, eyes sweeping the length of his body. Alfred felt the burn in his abdomen return in full force.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! Don't you and Ro-" He cut himself off. Even if this guy knew who he was, there was no reason to involve his friend or his teacher. "Uh don't you two have to go?" He asked.

"I suppose…"

"Then get going! I don't want you coming back to the house with anything but first place, you hear me?"

His mentor laughed loudly. "Yes, alright I hear you. I'll get going. But hurry back up here; Roma isn't going to leave without you. You promised to watch his match, right?"

Alfred winced, wishing that Antonio hadn't mentioned his fiery comrade. "Yea. Yea I'll be up in a minute." He promised, praying he wasn't telling a lie.

"I'll tell him then. Have a good time."

"We will. Now go! And good luck!" He replied. Antonio replied with an amused 'bye' and the cellar was silent once more. He let out a weak sigh of relief. To close. That had been way to close.

"You're braver then I gave you credit for." The man said suddenly, startling Alfred. "Perhaps you'll make a worthy knight after all." His long fingers released themselves from around Alfred's fisted hand and he let out a gasp, pulling it close to him and scrambling backwards. His body still felt hot. Bothered. But it was dulling, thank God, and it felt better, now that he was free of that animal.

"Go. You have somewhere to be, don't you Alfred?" The man smirked, sliding his hands into the pockets his pants and sitting leisurely back on his hips.

"Stay away from me." Alfred growled, stepping towards the exit. "I swear to God if I ever see you again…"

"Unfortunately child, you'll be seeing a lot of me from now on." He replied casually. Alfred glared at him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Ignore him. He's toying with you. You're never going to see him again. He thought to himself. For now, just go. And without a second thought, Alfred F. Jones turned on his heels and did just that, leaving the curious man alone in the cellar of a tavern, pacing slowly around the room, spinning a little, forgotten knife in his hand, and laughing to himself as if he'd just been told the funniest joke in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I apologize for how much this failed Xd I've never written ANYTHING M rated in my life before, so I know it sucks, but please go easy on me? :D Anyway, the next chapter will be a lot longer (if I ever get around to writing it) like I said, I'm not an author to ask for reviews, but since this is just a side project if I don't get any I won't continue because I have a more important story to be focusing my time on lol. XD

Later :P


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